


Faded Pictures

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 06:43:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/795024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim gets some disturbing news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded Pictures

## Faded Pictures

by silvina

Standard Disclaimer. I'm taking a break from hurting Ray to create a little Jim angst. Hope you like it. Please send comments, questions, compliments, and otters to sdelcul@yahoo.com.

The 'artwork' mentioned in this story doesn't exist (at least not the one I'm referring to.) I grabbed a dictionary and randomly opened it to a page looking for the first name that sounded reasonable.

* * *

Having come home early, Blair was not surprised that there weren't any lights on. He came in and, after throwing his backpack by the door and more carefully placing his laptop on his desk, he turned on a light in the living room on his way to the kitchen. 

Home first, he got a drink and started dinner by placing the lasagna he'd frozen a few days ago in the oven. He then went into the living room to sit down and got the shock of his life. 

"Jim? What's wrong?" 

Jim was by the window, staring out at the sky. 

When there was no response, he crept quietly closer until he could place a hand on Jim's shoulder. Jim didn't fight that, so he moved closer until he was wrapped around him in a warm embrace. Only then did Jim react by moving his arms over Blair's back, pulling him closer. They stood like that for a few minutes before Blair untangled himself and tugged Jim up to the loft. 

Managing a man as large as Jim Ellison up the stairs without his active assistance was difficult, but at least he wasn't putting up any kind of a fight. Finally upstairs, Blair took off Jim's shoes and socks and shirt, and debated over whether he should also remove Jim's pants. Deciding that he'd be more comfortable without them, he removed the pants and tossed them on the floor, without the usual complaint that would have been welcome just this once. He had Jim sit down while he quickly removed most of his own clothing, leaving himself in boxers and a T-shirt so he didn't get cold. He lay down and waited a little bit in case Jim was able to initiate an explanation, but he still wasn't reacting. 

Growing more and more nervous, he again manhandled Jim until he was lying flat on his back. Pulling himself close to Jim's side, he laid his head on Jim's shoulder and threw a leg over Jim's, while using one hand to trace the flow of muscle and skin on Jim's arm, chest, and abs. With only a quick thought of regret for the lasagna still in the oven, he settled in to wait. Endless moments later, Blair had almost fallen asleep before Jim turned on his side, facing Blair and tangling one hand in his hair, and whispered in his ear, "The lasagna's burning." 

Clueless as to the best the best course of action, he went downstairs and took out the lasagna. The top was only a little bit crunchy, so he served up two dishes and took them upstairs with water, napkins, and silverware on a tray. He set the tray on the floor, climbed back into the bed, and lifted the tray up. 

Knowing exactly what the look on Jim's face would be, he handed him a cup of water and one of the plates. "Drink. Eat." He directed, and was surprised to see the beginnings of a smile. Jim barely touched his lasagna, and Blair knew he was making an effort to eat even that much. When he figured the lasagna had been tortured enough, he took back the plate. Noticing that Jim had finished the water, he handed Jim his cup. By the time he turned back from putting the tray on the floor again, Jim had finished that cup as well. 

"Want more?" 

It took a while but Jim shook his head and passed the cup back to Blair, who took the tray back downstairs, made sure everything was locked up for the night, and raced upstairs to the warm bed. Climbing into the bed again he cuddled close to Jim and shivered, half for effect, half for warmth. His shivering had the desired effect on Jim who wrapped himself around Blair and whispered an apology in his ear. Blair smiled. That was the Jim he was intimately familiar with. 

"Feeling better?" He didn't want to push, but something was obviously wrong. 

Jim shrugged. "No." 

"It's not you, is it?" He gulped, suddenly realizing that Jim wouldn't be this upset about himself. "Or me, right?" 

He felt the shiver that ran through Jim. "No. We're fine." 

"Or Naomi, or Simon, or your father, or Steven, or any of the guys or Connor, right?" 

"No, they're all fine." 

"Good. Anybody I know or care about?" 

"No." 

"Is it something I can fix or change or help with?" 

It wasn't possible but Jim managed to pull him closer. "You help," he rumbled. 

Kissing Jim softly, Blair relaxed slightly. "Go to sleep then. We can talk about it in the morning." 

Knowing that Jim used him as a touchstone, Blair closed his eyes and settled in for sleep to keep his breathing and heart rate slow and steady. Once he was sure that Jim was safely in dreamland, he let himself fall asleep. 'Better than a hot water bottle and an old clock for a new puppy,' was his last thought until morning. 

* * *

Blair woke up the next morning for the first time since he'd gone to sleep. No nightmares was a good sign. He didn't have class that morning until 11, but Jim's shift at the station started at eight. It was twenty to seven now. If he called Simon and convinced Shannon to take his class today. . . . 

At 7:09 Blair was watching Jim as he woke up. 

"Hey, sleepyhead." He murmured when Jim blinked at him. 

Jim smiled as he turned off the alarm before it rang. He opened his arms and Blair moved into them. 

"You smell wonderful." A Sentinel nose sniffed along his neck. 

"I didn't shower yet." 

"You don't have to." 

Blair found himself pounced in the middle of the bed, his shirt rucked up and his boxers somewhere on the floor before he found breath to speak. Totally into the hands patting him down, he caught a glance of Jim's face. It broke him out of the mood so quickly he almost had whiplash. 

"What's this supposed to be, Jim?" He croaked out from the far end of the bed. "You're not even hard." 

Jim stared at him in shock. 

Still half-hard and half-angry, Blair took a moment to consciously relax. "What happened yesterday? What are you trying to prove?" 

"I'm not trying to prove anything, Sandburg. I gotta go shower. You do what you want." 

"Jim, wait-" 

It was too late. Jim was down the stairs and in the bathroom. Precisely seven minutes later he was back and getting dressed. "I don't want to fight, okay? I have to go." 

"Jim, stop for a moment, okay?" He put himself in the way. 

"What?" 

A little obfuscation never hurt anyone. "I traded with Shannon. She's taking my class this morning." 

"So?" 

Moving closer, he took the clothes out of Jim's hands. "And you've got the morning off, courtesy of Simon." 

"What for?" 

"Work above and beyond the call of duty." The smirk on his face clued Jim in. 

"For putting up with you?" They both stepped closer, and the towel was called home to the floor. 

"Mhm." Kissing Jim was no hardship, and Blair kept it slow. "C'mere." 

"I love you, you know that." 

"I know." 

"I'm sorry about this morning." 

"Wanna let me in on what's going on?" 

"Nothing's going on. I got a phone call yesterday." 

Blair waited to hear the bad news. 

"My mother died." 

Mother? Blair didn't really know what to say. "Who called?" 

"Her lawyers. She must have left me something in her will. I'm supposed to meet with them after the funeral." 

"Are you going to the funeral?" 

"I don't know." 

"Okay." Blair said calmly. He almost smiled as Jim looked at him like he'd just sprouted antennae. "You expected me to tell you that you should go, right?" 

"Shouldn't I? I mean, I'm her son, and everyone will expect -" 

Blair's hand over his mouth was a surprise. Enough of a surprise to stun him into silence, which must have been Blair's intent. 

"Jim, whether or not you choose to go to the funeral is your choice. She hurt you for a long time. Yes, this may be an opportunity for you to have some closure, but that's only if you choose to end things with her. Don't go because you think you should. This is about you now, what's best for you. You don't even have to decide now." 

The hand on his arm, the pattern of Blair's voice and what he said were keeping Jim's headache at bay. "If I decided to go, would you come with me?" 

Blair grabbed hold of his hand and held it. "I'll do whatever you want. I love you, Jim." 

He pulled Blair close again. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome. Do you know what she left you?" 

"I hadn't really thought about it. I'm not sure if I care what she left me. She was always leaving me." He let go of Blair's hand and wandered off. 

Blair sighed. This was going to hurt Jim for a long time. 

* * *

"Every person who was to receive an inheritance was also to receive a letter, but the cancer progressed much faster than even the doctors had predicted. She didn't get around to yours. She did bequeath you one of the sculptures and some papers and things. Everything except the sculpture is boxed up by my secretary's desk. Arrangements will need to be made for delivery of the sculpture." 

"What does it look like?" Curiosity may have killed the cat, but Blair couldn't stop his and Jim was in no condition to ask. 

Mr. Bridgestone pulled out a photo. "Here we are. The 'Parousia,' the second coming." 

It was ugly. Damn ugly. Large, tacky, and utterly unnecessary. The thought of displaying this thing somewhere in the loft was unappealing. 

The phone rang. While Mr. Bridgestone was distracted, Blair tried to check on Jim subtly. "So, ah, what do you think of your new artwork? It's certainly, um, unique." 

"Ugly, you mean?" It was the only word he could think of to describe the four and a half feet tall sculpture. It was sort of an amorphous blob, with bits and pieces of faces and body parts halfway emerging. And it was a horrendous shade of pink. 

"Well, yes. The name must be from the from the greek, the participial form of the verb pareimi, meaning to be present." 

"What does that have to do with a second coming?" 

"The presence of Christ." 

"Oh. Ok." Distracted again, he turned to the wall. 

"Jim, man -" 

"What the hell, Sandburg. Why would she give me this thing? I don't get it. Was it her favorite? A present that she couldn't get rid of, either? How am I supposed to take this?" 

"I know everything's a bit chaotic right now. Why don't we tell Mr. Bridgestone we'll get back to him on what to do with the statue, sign the papers, get the box and go back home. Who knows, maybe you can learn something from the stuff in there." 

Jim nodded and they waited until Mr. Bridgestone returned, Jim examining the three diplomas displayed on the wall, Blair watching Jim. 

* * *

"She didn't get around to yours. She didn't get around to yours." The words revolved round and round in his head. "She didn't get around to yours." 

What was he supposed to get from that? That he'd never really mattered to her? That he was last in line. Again? But no, the cancer progressed much faster than even the doctors had predicted. It wasn't her fault. It just was. But "she didn't get around to yours . .. .." What did that mean about him? 

"-- Jim." 

"What?" 

"I said, penny for your thoughts." Blair passed him a plate full of something that smelled good. "I take it that these are worth at least a buck each?" 

Jim shrugged. "Just thinking." He was grateful when Blair seemed to take his statement at blank value and handed him a cup of water. He ate mechanically, mostly out of habit to not worry Blair. After they finished, he helped Blair with the dishes, knowing he wasn't really being much help. 

* * *

"Did she love me at all?" 

"I don't know, Jim." Trust Blair to know what he was talking about. "I don't know how she couldn't, though. I couldn't _not_ love you." 

"Then why wasn't she ever there? Why was I something she had to 'get around' to doing?" 

Blair cuddled closer. "I'm sorry, Jim. I don't know. I think that you're just going to have to accept that you may never know why she did the things she did." 

"It hurts." He was a little nervous about showing Blair the dark contents of his head, but Blair had faced them down before. 

"I'm sure it does. But in the end, the heart forgives and forgets. You may not have your mother, but you have me, and you have Simon, and Steven, and your father, and Naomi. She loves you like a son, you know." 

"I love her, too." 

"You do realize our little love fest has become rather incestuous now." 

Unexpectedly he found himself laughing. When the laughter turned into a few hard tears, Blair was there holding him tightly. 

A few minutes later he was calm again. "How do you do that? How do you always know how to make me feel better?" 

"What can I say? It's not my fault I'm always right." The laughter this time melted into a yawn. "Go to sleep, Jim. You'll feel better in the morning." 

"Thanks, Blair." 

"You're welcome." 

"Night." 

"Go to sleep, Jim." 

"I'm going. I'm going." 

* * *

End Faded Pictures by silvina: sdelcul@yahoo.com

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